Mist And Shade
by Ada-Xavier
Summary: [Suikoden IV: End of game] Elenor and Graham Cray exchange their final words in El Eal fortress.


**Mist And Shade**

**By Ada-Xavier**

The tall fortress of El-Eal had once stood proud and tall over the surrounding waters. Long had the masons worked to build this phenomenal symbol of Kooluk's incredible and growing power; long had the artisans carved the intricate details of the finest and most powerful rune cannon to grace the world.

The castle was now crumbling and falling apart; dust and small stones were hailing down from far above; slabs of rock had come crashing down moments earlier, just like Elenor's life had done all those years ago. And here she was again, she had returned to the source of all her problems.

Despite the terrible danger she and Graham Cray were in, she wanted to talk to him. She still had questions to ask. The tactician stood with her arms folded across her chest in her usual calm demeanour even though a voice in the back of her head was screaming at her to run and her heart was racing with fright.

Cray had sauntered away from her, his figure becoming hazy as the dust fell slowly and settled into the air. His cape billowed behind him in the breeze and he let out a deep sigh before answering Elenor. "I leave you to speculate – forever without answers. I could think of nothing that would harm out more." Cray sauntered away from Elenor once more. "Humans are the fools of this world and being a human, you are no exception and neither am I…"

"Good grief!" Said Elenor with a pout. "Is that the best conclusion you could draw? Looks like I'll have to train you all over again from scratch!"

The man that had once been Elenor's subordinate and student, merely grunted disapprovingly at her words. There was finally a tense silence between them and the air prickled with the remnants of the chilling fog that had long since dispersed. Graham Cray let out another grunt of surprise after a small stone sailed over his head and hit the ground. He slowly turned around to face Elenor. "As stubborn as ever I see."

"Yeah, well… What are you going to do, Graham? Stand here until this place finally caves in and takes you with it?"

Once again, Cray did not reply. He was still notoriously difficult to talk to even after all these years and Elenor could only let out an all-to-familiar sigh before speaking once more. "Fine. Unlike you, I don't have a death wish. Farewell, Graham." Elenor said as she casually strode away from him.

After walking a short distance and not hearing Cray following her like he used to, Elenor stopped and turned her head.

"Bye." Cray called with a wave of his steel hand, calling her faux pas.

"So, you want to stay here then?"

The man let out a deep, booming laugh that worried Elenor. It seemed to shake the dust lying dormant on the rocks. "Come to think of it, Ms. Silverberg, I have a question for you."

Elenor looked away from her former student as she felt a small smile creep across her face at his reminiscent, boyish tone of days long gone. "Alright – but it better not be stupid."

"What have you got to lose by leaving here?" Bellowed Cray.

Elenor spun around and glared at him in disbelief. "What?"

"What have you got to lose by leaving here, Elenor?" He repeated. "You have nothing left. No one cares whether you come back today. I'm sure your family in your homeland would be glad if your pointless letters weren't cluttering their tabletops. No one loves you, Elenor, so what is there to miss?"

The tactician could do nothing more than stare at Cray incredulously. The feeling of guilt that had lain in her heart for so long suddenly boiled into anger. "How dare you! After all I've done for you…" She stopped and let out an angry snarl. "Actually, you're quite right. You should just die here. You ran away from the Scarlet Moon Empire after your atrocities and now you have failed Kooluk. You used your son, you cut off your own hand, you betrayed the Empire and now look at you. Defeated with nowhere to run and no precious Rune to adorn your hand. Everything you touch turns to shit."

Even from the distance that separated them, Elenor could see that her words had clearly affected Cray. He lowered his head slightly and looked at his metal hand while slowly wiggling his fingers. "Nice observation and as coarse as ever I see. Time will never change you."

Elenor opened her mouth for another nasty retort but Graham Cray turned his head to the shore with a grin of pure malice sliding over his face. "Do you have an apprentice?" He asked in a softened, conversational tone.

"Of course I do. Even after you, Graham, I'm still willing to teach and pass on my knowledge."

"Right – maybe it'll redeem you for your failure or something. What is your student's name?"

"Agnes."

"Ooh, a female. How old is she?"

"Eighteen."

Cray laughed slightly. "And did she live with you?"

"Yes." Elenor replied impatiently. "What're you getting at, Cray?"

The man laughed as he slowly turned and pointed down to the shore. Tired of Cray's ridiculous games, Elenor let out a sigh as she followed his gaze and his finger and then let out a small gasp. The great ship of Obel was beginning to turn away from the ruined fortress. Elenor was too shocked to say anything and finally the danger in her heart was replaced with sheer panic.

"Clearly, Agnes does not love nor care for you." Said Cray in a casual voice.

Ignoring Cray and unsure of what she was going to do, Elenor only thought about running. Running to where? She had no idea but something would come to her. She gave Graham Cray one final glance before she took off. He didn't meet her eyes and instead he appeared to be engrossed in his steel hand. No more comments, no more remarks.

Elenor's footsteps echoed in the ruins of El-Eal as she tried her best to reach the shore but the further she travelled, the more difficulties she encountered. Her path soon became obstructed with deep crevasses and huge rocks that she had to dodge her way around. She hadn't been running very long and already she was beginning to feel the strain. She had a splitting pain in her left side and her breathing was short but she would keep going no matter how bad her tired body was aching. She promised Lazlo and Agnes that she'd come back and she'd honour that promise.

Another quake threw Elenor completely off balance but she recovered quickly with the adrenalin; El-Eal was beginning to crumble once more and she had to get out _now_. With every step that Elenor took, she could feel the tremors and see the small rocks moving on the ground. Her heart was beating faster than ever, dreading another vibration that would send her to the ground.

The strategist slowed down far too late when she found herself running along the edge of a quarry. Her left foot skidded on the loose rocks and dust – her reactions were slow so she lost her balance and fell. Had her overindulgence of alcohol just sent her to her grave? She tumbled down in a cloud of dust; she could feel herself wanting to retch with the constant "sky, ground, sky, ground" in a rolling cylinder motion as the world turned with the ease of a child's kaleidoscope.

The afternoon sun was beginning to break through the thick, grey clouds. The dust settling into the quarry caught the rays of golden light and fell to the ground like a dying firework.

The black shape lying at the bottom of the pit shook slightly; she let out a groan before trying to open her eyes. Elenor found herself to be aching worse than ever and feeling incredibly light-headed. With all the strength she could muster, the tactician quickly turned onto her back while letting out a loud moan at the strain. The first thing she noticed after joining the waking world was her prison; her grave.

Three high, rocky walls and one steep, dusty slope surrounded her. Being injured; being drunk; feeling defeated, Elenor had neither the spirit nor the energy to even sit up. Everything was still shaking and quaking with the deep tremors. She'd never be able to get out.

Something warm trickled from Elenor's nose to her top lip; she brushed it away in a quick motion. Although she knew what was there, she slowly held out her hand to see the streak of dried blood on the back of hand. She clenched her teeth at the sight but as she did so, she became aware of warmth and stickiness on her face. She clamped her hand on her cheek to find a mass of congealed blood that had streamed from a cut near her eye. She winced in pain and let her hand drop to the ground.

Sand and particles of rock poured over the edges of the stony walls as the intensity of the quakes became far more severe. Before closing her eyes and finally admitting her defeat, Elenor took a look to the sky for she knew herself it would be the last time she would. Although the clouds were still grey and the sky was looking rather dull and gloomy, the strategist was certain the rest of the day was going to turn out rather nice. Accepting that, she closed her eyes and inhaled the dusty air deeply. The ground was shaking more violently than before. Perhaps it would finally happen. Even if she tried to escape, she would probably never make it away from the fort in time…

"Elenor!"

Her eyes fluttered at the sound of her name. She had to be imagining it. Lazlo had dug her from her grave once and she knew no one would do it for her a second time.

"Elenor! Are you just going lay down and die in there after proclaiming and preaching at me? You're a walking contradiction. I always hated that about you."

The voice sounded rather far away and ever so slowly, she opened her eyes. In a cloud of golden dust, Graham Cray slid and stumbled down the quarry's slope. A heavy-footed landing sent a spray of debris over Elenor. Defeated, she took little notice of Cray until his steel hand was glittering in front of her face. "What do you want?" She grunted.

"Isn't it obvious?" He replied simply.

The steel fingers shimmered the late morning light; Elenor's distorted reflection flowed over the cool metal like a misty river in spring, caressing and sliding over a rocky bed. Displeased with what was looking back at her, Elenor pushed his hand away roughly while her eyes burned with a passion that would frighten even the most lion-hearted of men. "I don't want your pity." Said Elenor, emphasising each word with a haunting bitterness.

Cray was unchanged by Elenor's actions. His face remained stoic and emotionless as he took a step towards her, casting a dark shadow over her small form. This time his right hand shot out and gripped Elenor's while the other held her securely around the shoulders. He then pulled her effortlessly to her feet as if she was nothing more than a doll.

Still feeling light-headed and rather dazed, it took Elenor a few moments to recuperate after her fall. She held the side of her head with her free hand in attempt to relax. After a few seconds, the reality of the situation overpowered her. She became aware of the vibrations running through the ground and Cray's heavy arm on her shoulder. Like a gut reaction, Elenor tried to back away from him but although she was free from his arm draped around her, his grip on her hand tightened.

She clenched her teeth and her expression hardened. For the first time in years, she was so close to The Merchant of Death, yet he felt like a mirror image of his former self. His eyes, pale and ghost-like, glittered with a misty vapour and his face expressionless forever more.

The ruthless splitting of stone resonated through the ruins of El-Eal, causing both Graham and Elenor to take a sturdier stance on the ground, although Cray's grip on Elenor's hand did not slacken. As the earth shook at their feet, the distance between master and apprentice grew wider and wider. Distance had separated them for many years and during Elenor's period of seclusion, Graham Cray had become notorious yet Elenor was nothing more than a name – the name of a famous tactician long bereft like her lifestyle. Her dreams; her memory; her talent left to live through an apprentice. She would not have it end this way.

Elenor Silverberg jerked her hand away from Cray's, her own congealed blood streaked across their palms. Her eyes were narrowed; her lips were curled in a snarl of sheer determination; her heart thumped with adrenaline in her chest. She would not have it end this way.


End file.
